Talk:The random post-y page/@comment-99.244.196.165-20120413020413
Rewrote the prologue. Whaddya think?: Every person has a dark side. It’s what links people together. Even those who may not seem alike have that one factor to connect them. It may sound depressing, but I speak the truth. I’ve seen millions of people in my lifetime, none exactly alike. But the one thing about them is that they all have those off days. Days where they may snap at you, or just give you the cold shoulder. Others have it worse. Their days are more like “punch someone for ticking me off” or something worse, along those lines. It’s not a fun experience for anyone involved. Though the snapper may get some momentary pleasure from their outburst, it’ll become guilt soon enough. It’s human nature. Some people may argue that not everyone has a dark side. They’ll point out saints here and there or just generally good people. But as nice as it would be to believe that everyone’s perfect, it’s a fantasy that will never come true. Your bad moments are, again, an automatic response that’s hard to turn off. It’s not humanly possible to be God twenty four-seven. A dark side is like shadow. It’s always there, following you around. But most people don’t have a shadow like mine. She’s like me in every aspect. She really is a shadow, mirroring my every movement. But that’s only when everyone’s watching. That’s where it takes a twist. Shadows are just that, reflects of your person, under the sun’s fierce gaze. Shadows are, figuratively, not real. They don’t think, never mind plot behind your back. She does. Which lead me to believe that she was a person. She couldn’t be, of course. No one could see her except for me. And unless the world is legally blind, she isn’t there. Then where is she, you ask? In a dark pit, laying in wait, ready to pounce, to take over. In a place called my mind. My off days aren’t cold shoulder days. It’s not even the “punch someone for ticking me off” off days. I’m not sure what it would be classified as. Possession? It’s not like its even me. I’m not sure why she’s there. The doctors said it was because I snapped in the end, and my unconscious mind created her from my painful insanity. My feelings of dread, gloom and revenge, personified as this twisted double. It’s like looking through a cracked mirror. It’s a common diagnostic of what I have. I’m not sure why she wants to kill me. If we share a body, wouldn’t that kill her too? Or does she not care who gets destroyed in my annihilation? But in this train of thought, a belief kicks in. A strange and deluded one, for certain, but one shred of hope to cling to. Much like how the best of us have their moments, maybe the worst do too. Maybe there’s good in her. Maybe she cares about me. Or maybe I’m just crazy. Everyone thinks so. Maybe they’re right. Aren’t they usually? I’m not sure of anything anymore.